Just Once
by styx-theta
Summary: An elaboration on the final romance scene between Femshep and Garrus. Rated M for adult smexytime themes. I promise I tried to keep it tasteful. This is my first fanfic, so please be nice?


_Oh hai. It wouldn't leave me alone, so I had to do something about it. After the damn screen goes black in the Garrus romance scene, I keep hearing myself screaming in my head about how poor our poor Turian vigilante didn't get more screentime with Shep. Curse you Bioware and your touching but far too short romance scenes. {But not really because I love you, Bioware.} All this stuff belongs to them._

_I'm also not real comfortable with the whole writing smut thing—that part seemed to go too fast and isn't very well done, I know. It's not what I was trying to get at, though, so I guess it's okay._

_This is my first fanfic, so bear with me. ^_^_

"I want something to go right. Just once. Just…"

Her hand, now ungloved, reached up and touched his scarred face.

He could feel his leathery forehead touch hers, lightly at first, still unsure of what this meant. What any of this meant. Why she was here with him, only him. Whether or not they'd really decided on this was, in reality, still up in the air, despite the discussions and lighthearted flirtation that had been going on for… Well, awhile now.

How _could_ it go right? He'd lost everything he'd ever made for himself. His job. In a way, his father. His team on Omega.

They were heading into the depths of hell itself—or at least its equivalent—in no more than a few hours, but that wasn't registering with him at the moment.

Hell, he'd even lost _her_ for awhile, hadn't he? And yet it hadn't really hit him until now. Granted, there was a period of mourning after she was pronounced dead; everyone was at a loss. Liara. Tali. Wrex. Kaidan especially. He knew that she'd had feelings for the lieutenant. It had been kind of obvious.

He didn't think he was any more upset and lost than any of the others, though. Had he been? He supposed it didn't matter now.

She had come back, of course. Leave it to her to make coming back from the dead as simple as lining up a shot on a wounded merc. He remembered feeling—what was it? Awe? He wasn't quite sure. But something had fallen back into place when she'd saved his ass from that apartment on Omega. Something was solid again.

Later on there was Horizon and Kaidan's blatant refusal to have anything to do with her, and yet he never saw her break. Not once. And he knew that there was no other person in this galaxy he'd rather have standing next to him—here in this room, on the battlefield, facing the Geth, the Collectors, the Reapers, or in whatever other situation his worst-case-scenario brain could cook up. When it came to her, she burned like a sun, outshining everything else in sight, pulling everyone together and making everything_ real_. Reachable. She'd always have his six, at the very least.

She made it seem like there would always be a sunrise, as long as she was there, fighting.

For so long he hadn't wanted to see that sunrise. He couldn't do the things she did—he'd tried and failed.

He closed his eyes, pushing his head against hers, frustration bubbling up in his chest, but her hand on his scarred face jarred him back to reality. That feeling… That… Stability. Solidness. He reopened his eyes only to find hers staring up at him, and those eyes knew. They knew the pain he suffered, and they knew that right now, it didn't have weight. Her eyes commanded him still, even though the front of commander and soldier had long since been cast aside.

They were almost defiant, in a way. Like that look she had given him through the scope of his sniper rifle the day they had been planning—or he'd thought they'd been planning—to kill Sidonis.

"_This isn't you, either." __**You're better than this.**_

She then had a sudden resolve in her eyes, and her hand moved to encourage him to lean a little closer. He had no idea what she was doing; he hadn't exactly taken Mordin's advice to heart and done _extensive _research on human behavior and relationships and… well, all that crap. He'd really figured that she _would _find something a little closer to home, but here they were, and suddenly his chest tightened like it had as he had been standing in the elevator on his way to her quarters.

She pulled him closer, her forehead shifting away from his as he felt her warm breath ghost across his neck. It gave him shivers, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of her lips on his leathery skin, softly kissing his neck. His eyes closed again, and he was awed at how the tightness in his chest, a result of his nervous thoughts, had changed in just the slightest way. It wasn't a frantic feeling anymore—just… Giddy? Was that the right term?

Damnit. Shut up, brain. Just shut up.

His hand slowly stopped stroking her arm (as it had been absently doing so for the past few minutes), instead coming to rest on her lower back, while his other hand cautiously came up and ran through her hair once and then again, but this time stopping just to hold her there, and they stood in silence for a moment.

For some reason, he felt as if this said everything he needed her to hear.

He then moved his head and buried his face in the delicate space between her jaw and collarbone, and he realized how soft she was. She wasn't wearing her armor. It was hardly _weird_ per say, and at the same time… This wasn't the Commander he held in his arms, and he knew it. He held what she really was, even if he didn't entirely know what that was. Maybe she didn't know, either. A person like her had all sorts of images forced on her from the outside, but he felt he had a better idea of Shepard than most. She trusted him with _her_: what she was beyond the "savior of the galaxy".

She lifted her head, and he stood up straight again, looking down at her with a question in his stare. She returned the look with a crooked smile, her eyes shinier than before, but hell if he noticed. He finally didn't feel like a bumbling fool, and he was going to take advantage of that.

He thought he'd always been the more stylish of the two.

He had to live up to that, of course.

He quickly swept an arm under her, picking her up in one deft motion and turning into the room toward the bed. He set her down carefully, listening to her chuckle at his sudden confidence. She sat up on the bed, and he set himself down next to her, but just as quickly as the confidence had seized him, it quickly vanished when he realized he wasn't sure what to do next.

Well, he knew the basics, but this was different. This was… well, not a Turian. Not to mention it was _Shepard_.

And, true to form, she took the lead for a moment, pressing her hand to his chest and then searching quietly for the clasps to his shirt. He looked at her, amused, and helped her unfasten the clothing and discarding it on the floor. Her hand ran across his angular chest, studying it, but at the same time suggesting a much less _academic_ interest. He took her wrist in his hand—damned if he was going to sit by and let her do all the work—and he set it down by her side. He deftly unzipped the front of her clothing, his mandibles twitching in a sort of cheeky amusement, but he removed her shirt with nothing but a respectful reverence. It was what she deserved.

He encouraged her to lay on the bed and the rest of their clothes were discarded in much the same way, although as less and less fabric covered their bodies, the more a sense of urgency seemed to envelope them, but he knew to be patient. This was new. This was his one chance to do something right.

But as his fingers led her bra strap down her shoulder, he couldn't help feeling a hunger for the woman he held there on the bed. She was no Turian woman, but it didn't appear to matter. It wasn't her physical body that made him feel this way—not entirely. Her very essence pulled him in; it had led him to hell and back, across the galaxy, through gunfire, explosions, and a hell of a lot of mercs, and he was finally starting to understand why he let her do such a thing to him. She was the only one willing to listen to him, the only one who refused to change who she was, let alone let him destroy who_ he_ was, and she was maybe the only one prepared to give up everything she had so the rest of the galaxy could go on screwing itself up. Er, living. Not to mention—

He couldn't help it. The heart wants what the heart wants and all that.

He smiled to himself (as far as Turian smiling goes), noticing that her eyes had closed as he slid off the rest of her clothing. It was _exhilarating _seeing her armor-less form, lying there, for him. _Him_. He suddenly noticed just how excited he was, and he was just about to feel embarrassed when her hand came up and stroked his also armor-less side, beckoning him closer. He was stabilized once again.

He shifted closer, taking one hand and placing it on her cheek. Her eyes had closed again, languid and inviting despite the fact that she wasn't even looking at him.

His thumb (or equivalent of one) ran across her cheek.

"Look at me."

Immediately her eyes came open, and her head turned toward him. She almost looked concerned, but he gave her a reassuring look and continued, "Just making sure this is really what you want." His voice had a touch of humor in it, being as how they were already on her bed, naked, knowing full well that this had already been discussed and dealt with.

She sat up under him, leaning against the headboard. "…Yeah, Garrus. I—I really do."

He knew she was entrusting him with this, allowing him inside a barrier that a vast majority of people would never even get close to, and a certain reverence returned to his demeanor.

And they both knew that this might be it. This was all they would get.

"I… I can't promise you anything."

"I never asked for promises, Shepard." His heart wrenched. They were probably going to die, but even if that didn't happen, well… He didn't really know if Horizon had changed anything she felt, or even if this meant something to her. Hell, even stupid things like _culture_ and _society_ threatened to pull things like this apart. What _was_ this, anyway?

A pained smile crept into her gaze as her eyes shivered with tears.

But, true to form, they didn't fall. Shepard never cried. This was as close as she could get, he guessed.

"I don't have very many friends left in this screwed-up galaxy, either. Definitely not many crazy and stupid enough to follow me into certain-death twice and not question me once about it. Even Tali was a little apprehensive at first."

"You meant twice _daily_ right?"

"Shut up, Garrus. I'm trying to tell you something meaningful." Her voice held no hostility, and he refrained from further teasing. He was acutely aware of the closeness of their bodies, him lying next to her on the bed. Funny how "blowing off steam" worked.

But he preferred it this way. He didn't want to rush with Shepard. He was, to put it in his own words, savoring the last shot. He noticed she'd receded into herself, her gaze a little far off and unfocused.

She continued. "I've had my share of 'blowing off steam,' as you put it. It's never gone like this. That's not what I feel when… when I'm with you. You're the only one who's stuck by me."

Kaidan flashed through his mind with a rush of frustration, but he let the thought pass.

"You remember when I told you I've never met anyone like you after we confronted Saleon? I meant that. You're not easy to stay away from. Hell, Shepard, you /died/, and I still end up following you into hell and taking a rocket to the face for some half-baked crazy-ass—not to mention shifty as none other—mission to save the galaxy."

"Ha, the minute you took off that helmet, I finally felt like maybe coming back from the dead—you know, technically I'm a zombie, I think—wasn't so bad. I think we've been living in denial for a long time, Garrus."

"Is being a zombie really that bad?"

Her silence was her only answer for awhile, the nostalgia and happiness draining from her face. It was easy picking up a gun and shooting; it was easy knowing your goal and accomplishing it; it was easy helping everyone else with their own problems, but when it came to facing herself, Shepard was her own worst enemy.

"Maybe not the zombie part. But the dying… Yes. I—I'm not supposed to be here, Garrus."

_Damnit, I KNEW I'd end up screwing this up._

Unable to say anything to a statement like that, his hand rushed to the side of her face, the other moving around to her exposed back and pulling her closer. He knew he couldn't make it alright. Nothing he did was ever going to reconcile feelings like that. That didn't mean he couldn't try. She'd done as much—probably more—for him. Their skin pressed together, his leathery and plate-like against hers, soft and pliable. She seemed so breakable like this, but he knew better. No matter what she was feeling at this moment, it wouldn't change her. It drew him in, compelled him to keep fighting. Like that day on Omega… Maybe there_ was_ something he could say.

"Neither am I, Shepard."

The hand on her face slipped downward, caressing her shoulder and sending shivers down the length of her body and giving her goosebumps. His head nestled into the space between her jaw and collarbone again, and he breathed onto her neck. This was the best he could do when it came to kissing, but she seemed to like it. Her own hand came up slowly and ran along his fringe—gingerly at first, and then playing with it as her confidence grew. Garrus gave a somewhat uncharacteristic growl, deep in his chest, gripping her arm just above the elbow. His face contorted in old feelings of frustration: at his own life, at his inability to make things right, at things that had happened to Shepard, at how no one ever seemed to get what they deserved.

He'd heard Jack say something profound on the Collector ship, if he recalled correctly. It ran along the lines of "No one ever gets what they deserve" or "Life isn't about people getting what they deserve." The smart ones—the strongest ones—make the best of the cards they're dealt.

_Fate can calibrate _this_._

He pulled her under him, his hand releasing her arm and trailing across her body. He touched her collarbone, letting his hand fall to her breast and listening to her breath quicken, her heart begin to flutter madly in her chest. She was quick to follow, though. Under him, her hands began to work over his shoulders, coming down over his chest, following the ridges down to his stomach and his sensitive waist. He shuddered at her touch, and he saw her head come up, her lips meeting his mandibles, his neck, his mouth, her legs exploring the feel of his own as they slid up and down against his leathery skin.

His own hand explored her waist and hips, feeling the bones underneath the pliable, smooth skin. He looked down at her, could feel the muscles just beneath the surface ripple and shudder at his touch, and he was fascinated.

Granted, not just fascinated. That much he had also noticed.

This shouldn't be happening. But, as experience would dictate, things that shouldn't happen often do.

She also seemed to notice Garrus' great _interest_ in her, and she stroked him—tentatively at first, then gently wrapping her hand around the base of him, her gaze locking on his. She led him closer, and he could feel her: warm, throbbing with life, daring him, even. Slowly, he pressed into her, and she lifted her hips in encouragement and her own desire. She parted around him, enveloping him completely, her back arching into his body, and she succumbed to a low moan and closed her eyes.

The predator in him went wild with passion, but he withheld the feeling—to be safe. He figured they should start slow. They were finally where they wanted to be, and he wasn't planning on wasting a moment of it. He felt her arms come up around his neck in an embrace, and he allowed himself to roll over onto his back, their two forms still one, and he returned the gesture. His hands slid up and down her back heavily, lingering on every rib he felt beneath her skin, every vertebrae of her spine. He felt her slowly rock back and forth, and he tingled with pleasure. Some things weren't so different, Turian or no, but Shepard was definitely unique. For more than a few reasons.

She bent forward on top of him, kissing his mandible again then moving down to his more exposed and softer-skinned neck, where instead of kissing him, he could feel her blunt teeth nip him. Her hands gripped him at the shoulders, her nails digging as best they could into him as she released another moan next to his ear.

He couldn't help himself. He'd given up control, and now he took it back, "biting" her shoulder with his harder "lips" and taking himself out from under her. As he held himself over her once more, she rested her legs in the hollows above his hips—a perfect place for them, really. He buried himself in her soon after, aching to feel her around him, and his thrusts became impassioned. Their breaths came as one, and he watched her chest heave underneath him, her body moving in time with his. It only served to spur him on, exploring her and striving for her, knowing that this was all he would get.

It almost felt like a dance, the way they moved together, and the tempo only became faster, the beat louder in his ears. Her legs squeezed around him, and he pushed himself further, harder.

They watched each other's hungry eyes.

He felt her shudder and give way beneath him, her muscles contracting and shivering around him, and he gave in soon after. They reveled in each other's aftershocks, and when they had finally spent themselves completely, he collapsed beside her. He realized she was shimmering with sweat, and as he lay there he turned on his side, his hand running along her glistening stomach. It was… strangely beautiful. Her chest still heaved heavily, and his hand paused to feel the steady, slowing thrum of her heart.

There could be no promises in a galaxy like this. He knew that. She knew that.

She woke to an empty bed. She put on her armor and went down to the bridge, watched as Joker maneuvered through the Omega 4 Relay and the shitstorm that waited beyond it (to everyone's utter panic and dismay), took down that damn Collector ship that had been after her for 2 years, and they finally landed—well, crash landed—on what was hopefully the Collector base EDI had pinpointed for them before they'd gone to get the IFF.

"Garrus, you're leading the fire team." Her intent stare, if only for a few seconds, wasn't the stare of the Commander.

All he could do was nod and know that her voice would be the one on the other side of the comm link.


End file.
